Patty's Fortune
CHAPTER I
AN INVITATION
“I think Labour Day is an awfully funny holiday,” remarked Patty. “It doesn’t seem to mean anything. It doesn’t commemorate anybody’s birth or death or heroism.”
“It’s like Bank Holiday in England,” said her father. “Merely to give the poor, tired business man a rest.”
“Well, you don’t specially need one, Daddy; you’ve recreated a lot this summer; and it’s done you good, – you’re looking fine.”
“Isn’t he?” said Nan, smiling at the finely tanned face of her husband.
The Fairfields were down at “The Pebbles,” their summer home at the seashore, and Patty, who had spent much of the season in New England, had come down for a fortnight with her parents. Labour Day was early this year and the warm September sun was more like that of midsummer.
The place was looking lovely, and Patty herself made a pretty picture, as she lounged in a big couch hammock on the wide veranda. She had on a white summer frock and a silk sweater of an exquisite shade of salmon pink. Her silk stockings were of the same shade, and her white pumps were immaculate.
Mr. Fairfield looked at the dainty feet, hanging over the edge of the hammock, and said, teasingly, “I’ve heard, Patty, that there are only two kinds of women: those who have small feet, and those who wear white shoes.”
Patty surveyed the feet in question. “You can’t start anything, Dad,” she said; “as a matter of fact, there’s only one kind of women today for they all wear white shoes. And my feets are small for my age. I wear fours and that’s not much for a great, big girl like me.”
“’Deed it isn’t, Patty,” said Nan; “your feet are very slender and pretty; and your white shoes are always white, which is not a universal condition, by any means.”
“You’re a great comfort, Nan,” and Patty smiled at her stepmother. “Dunno what I’d do without you, when the Governor tries to take a rise out of me.”
“Oh, I’ll buy your flowers, little girl,” and Nan smiled back, for there was great friendship and chumminess between these two. “Are you tired, Pats? You look – well, – interestingly pale.”
“Washed out, you mean,” and Patty grinned. “No, I’m not exactly tired, but I’ve been thinking – ”
“Oh, then of course you’re exhausted! You oughtn’t to think, Patty!”
“Huh! But listen here. This is Monday, and between now and Saturday night I’ve got to go to fourteen different functions, of more or less grandeur and gaiety. Fourteen! And not one can I escape without making the other thirteen mad at me!”
“But, Patty,” said Mr. Fairfield, “that’s ridiculous. Of course, you can refuse such invitations as you choose.”
“Of course I can’t, Lord Chesterfield. I’ve got to show up at every blessed one, – or not at any. I’d like to cut the whole caboodle!”
“Why don’t you?” asked Nan. “Just retire into solitude, and I’ll say you’re suffering from – from – ”
“Temporary mental aberration!” laughed Patty. “No, that wouldn’t suit me at all. Why, this afternoon, I’m going to a Garden Tea that I wouldn’t miss for a farm. There’s to be a new man there!”
“Well, just about the last thing you need on this earth is a new man!” declared her father. “You’ve a man for every day in the week now, with two thrown in for Sunday.”
Patty looked demure. “I can’t help it,” she said. “I’m that entertaining, you know. But this new man is a corker!”
“My child, what langwich, what langwich!”
“’Tisn’t mine. That the way he was described to me. So, of course, I want to see if he is any good. And, you won’t believe it, but his name is Chick Channing!”
“What!”
“Yes, it is. Chickering Channing, for long, Chick for short.”
“What was his mother thinking of?”
“Dunno. Prob’ly he was named for a rich uncle, and she couldn’t help the combination.”
“Who is he?”
“One of Mona’s Western friends. Arrives today for a week or so. Mona’s Tea is in his honour, though she was going to have it anyway.”
“Well,” said Mr. Fairfield, judicially, “of course you must go to that Tea, and subjugate that young man. Then have him over here and I’ll size him up. If you want him, I’ll buy him for you.”
“Thank you, dear Father, but I have toys enough. Well, then, tonight is the Country Club Ball. And I do hate that, for there are so many uninteresting people at it, and you have to dance with most of them. And tomorrow there’s a poky old luncheon at Miss Gardiner’s. I don’t want to go to that. I wish I could elope!”
“Why don’t you, Patty?” said Nan, sympathetically; “cut it all, and run up to Adele’s, or some nice, quiet place.”
“Adele’s a quiet place! Not much! Even gayer than Spring Beach. And, anyway, it isn’t eloping if you go alone. I want to elope with a Romeo, or something exciting like that. Well! for goodness gracious sakes’ alive! Will you kindly look who’s coming up the walk!”
They followed the direction of Patty’s dancing blue eyes and saw a big man, very big and very smiling, walking up the gravel path, with a long, swinging stride.
“Little Billee!” Patty cried, jumping up and holding out both hands. “Wherever did you descend from?”
“Didn’t descend; came up. Up from the South, at break of day, – Barnegat, to be exact. How do you do, Mrs. Fairfield? How are you, sir?”
Farnsworth’s kindly, breezy manner, condoned his lack of conventional formality, and with an easy grace, he disposed his big bulk in a deep and roomy wicker porch chair.
“And how’s the Giddy Butterfly?” he said, turning to Patty. “Still making two smiles grow where one was before? Still breaking hearts and binding them up again?”
“Yes,” and she dimpled at him. “And I have a brand-new one to break this afternoon. Isn’t that fine?”
“Fine for the fortunate owner of the heart, yes. Any man worthy of the name would rather have his heart broken by Patty Fairfield than – than – to die in a better land!”
“Hobson’s choice,” said Mr. Fairfield, drily. “Are you here for a time, Farnsworth? Glad to have you stay with us.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’m on the wing. I expected to spend the holiday properly, fishing at Barnegat. But a hurry-up telegram calls me up to Maine, instanter. I just dropped off here over one train, to catch a glimpse of Little Sunshine, and make sure she’s behaving herself.”
“I’m a Angel,” declared Patty, with a heavenward gaze. “And, Bill, what do you think! I was just saying I wanted to elope. Now, here you are! Why don’t I elope with you?”
“If it must be some one, it might as well be me,” returned Farnsworth, gravely; “have you a rope ladder handy?”
“Always
